


A Game of Stealth

by A_simple_lee



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Reader Insert, Tickling, ticklish!Legolas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27580340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_simple_lee/pseuds/A_simple_lee
Summary: you make a bet with Pippin that you simply have to win, though this comes at a cost for Legolas that he isn’t entirely happy with.
Relationships: Aragorn & Reader, Legolas Greenleaf & Reader, Merry Brandybuck & Reader, Pippin Took & Reader
Kudos: 18





	A Game of Stealth

“Do you think it’s possible to sneak up on the Elf?” You ponder out loud, bored after the long hours of walking through thankfully safe yet plain country. Fields and sparse woods stretch ahead of your party as far as the eye can see, and whilst you’re grateful for the respite from the violence and danger, trudging for days without a change in scenery is starting to dampen your spirits. There are no orcs or goblins (nor trolls) in these lands, so the Fellowship is taking advantage of the easier terrain by travelling for shorter periods and setting up camp earlier each night.

“For you? No,” Pippin snorts, highly entertained by the concept of a human trying to be sneaky.

“I think I could,” you respond, glancing at your elven companion; he’s slightly ahead of everyone, talking with Aragorn.

Merry sidles up from behind you. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s hard enough to do so as a hobbit.”

“Then I shall remind you how easy it was once I’ve accomplished it,” you grin, feeling rather confident. “I’ll show you.”

Over the course of five or so minutes, you make your way swiftly through the party’s marching order, taking advantage of a couple trees for cover every now and then. Gimli gives you an odd look, but you press a finger to your lips in warning, and he returns to his conversation with Sam.

The weather’s working in your favour; you stand downwind of the party’s trackers, and the breeze is enough to rustle the local flora into a distracting white noise. Perhaps, you think, there’s a chance you could pull this off. There’s only a few feet between you and the Elf now, who seems rather unaware. You move to place a hand on his shoulder from behind. He reaches up and grabs your wrist before you can touch him.

“Yes, little one?”

You frown. His lips quirk in an almost-smile.

“…why do you call me that? I’m no Shirefolk.”

“You spend long hours with them,” he counters.

“I suppose,” you admit; the Hobbits hold a special place in your heart as simply good people. They only ever wish to help others, and you admire their willpower. That, and Merry and Pippin tell excellent jokes.

“Do you require something?” Legolas is looking at you curiously.

“He is a wood-elf,” Pippin smiles as you return, casting a pointed glance towards the trees.

“Alright, I suppose it’s difficult.” The atmosphere turns quiet for a period after that, your trio remaining silent save for a few jibes from your halfling friends.

Later in the day, when the afternoon approaches sunset, you set up camp, sheltered in a sort of valley with large boulders scattered about.

“This should be safe,” Gandalf advises. “There’s no life here for miles.”

As time progresses, the Fellowship sits in small groups, exchanging stories and preparing for the night.

“What were you talking about earlier?” Frodo asks. “I saw you acting suspicious with Pippin, and that’s never a good sign.”

“Why,” you start, not sure whether to be honoured or offended by the accusation. “We were just discussing a bet.”

“A bet?”

“Yes-” you cast a cursory glance around the camp; the Elf is preoccupied speaking with Gimli.

“Merry and Pippin think I can’t sneak up on Legolas.” At this, Frodo narrows his eyes. “Oh, do have some faith in me!”

“-He shouldn’t, little one.” A voice from close behind you catches you off guard. You yelp, flinching and turning around to face your sylvan companion, who has drifted noiselessly over whilst you were talking.

“Legolas, I-” Merry and Pippin are laughing, but you ignore them. “I have committed to a goal, and I intend to reach it.”

“You make more noise than our halflings, little one - you’d do well to spend more time with them, and then perhaps you’ll learn to step quieter.”

“I can step quietly!” You protest. “I’ll get better!”

Several failed attempts follow this conversation, the most notable one being by your campfire in the evening, where Legolas turns to face you before you’ve gotten within 5 feet of him. The rest of your party is finding the debacle rather entertaining, much to your dismay.

“Very well,” you huff, sitting down next to Aragorn & Boromir. “If I need to learn, teach me. You’re a ranger, Aragorn - surely you have some advice.” He lets out a chuckle, and places a hand on your shoulder.

“Do not step on twigs; they make a great deal of noise.” You roll your eyes. “And stop being so careless in your movements; they’re clumsy.”

Despite the slightly patronising tone, Aragorn appears somewhat sincere.

“Thank you,” Rising from the campfire, you move to unpack your bed roll.

Morning greets you with a golden sunrise and birdsong - a luxury on your adventure. It appears you’re the last one to wake; everyone else is sat eating a breakfast of Lembas bread and dried fruits. The idea to practise your sneaking skills occurs to you - nobody’s noticed you’re awake yet, so you take the opportunity to clamber from your bed roll and cautiously tiptoe behind the rock Legolas is sitting on. Your breath is suspended, hanging in your lungs as you will no one to see you.

Nobody does, it seems, as you draw closer to your elf. The unexpected success feels suspicious. You haven’t thought about what you’ll do if you managed to sneak up on Legolas, so you spend about half a second pondering your next steps. It’s probably best to make your victory known to the party, hence a loud noise will suit the situation, you decide. In the relative quiet of the countryside, any sudden commotion will quickly gain attention, and then you shall have proved everyone wrong.

So you find yourself reaching forwards and fluttering your fingers over the elf’s neck.

What sounds like a genuine yelp of surprise escapes from Legolas, and he twitches away from your hands. The feeling of 8 pairs of eyes on the both of you reassures you of your victory. Though when the yelp dissolves into a giggle, your glee turns to curiosity.

“Good morning!” You laugh, giddy with the knowledge you’ve finally proved the hobbits incorrect.

“Good morning,” Legolas blinks, seeming taken aback by your ambush.

“Ticklish?” you tease, poking him in the side. The elf takes your hand, smiling calmly.

“Be careful,” he warns. “I’m happy to leave you this victory, though if you try that again, I can’t promise I won’t take my revenge.”

“I’m not ticklish,” you bluff, sneaking an arm behind your friend to tweak his ribs. He yelps again, this time attracting the attention of Merry and Pippin. The pair of them are overjoyed at this turn of events; or, more importantly, the mischief that will result from it. Legolas gives you a look of betrayal, but you ignore it and trot off to pack up your things, a victorious human. It isn’t long before you hear laughter and shouting from behind you.

You don’t remember Legolas’ words until the evening, since the rest of the day passes rather uneventfully. Whilst the terrain has become rockier, there’s still no sign of the peace ending, which is both reassuring and infuriating. You spar with the Aragorn whilst the others set down their belongings, but it isn’t long before he’s called away by Frodo. You sit down and begin unpacking your things, making yourself comfortable for the night. Sunset is fast approaching, and Gimli has taken Sam to look for food.

There’s not much for you to do, so you sit weaving some long blades of grass into a pattern. The activity distracts you from the clattering of equipment around you, and for a moment it’s as if you’re not even travelling, but sitting in a garden somewhere. Thoughts of danger and the trauma of the past few weeks slip away as your muscle memory takes over, repeating the same knots over and over, your little craft project growing increasingly elaborate. Flowers dot the ground next to the rock you’re sitting on, so you pick a few and weave them in, eventually tying off the braid and examining it. Not bad.

Somebody tackles you from behind, the woven bracelet falling from your grip and hands try to grab your wrists; you fight them off. You’re about to call for help when you finally stop to look up at your attacker; it’s the elf.

“Legolas, what are you-”

“I did warn you,” He states simply, trying to gain the upper hand in your impromptu wrestling match. The pieces fall into place inside your head, and suddenly this fight has higher stakes. You scramble out from under him and sprint as fast as you can, accidentally bumping into Merry on the way and yelling a rushed apology in his direction as you flee.

Behind this boulder, around this corner, down this ledge- oh no. A hand grabs your arm, and down you fall, Legolas immediately skittering his fingers over your sides.

“Ah- don’t!”

“I thought you weren’t ticklish, little one.” He smiles, and you bat at his hands in frustration.

“I’m- I’m nohohot!” To your misfortune, Legolas appears to be a deft tickler, and when he tweaks your ribs, your resolve breaks. It’s only downhill from there, the elf quickly figuring out your weak spots and using them to his advantage.

“Ahahaha-okahahahay, I yihihield! Ihihihi’m sorry!” You cry, scrunching up your neck when one hand moves to spider over the sensitive skin there.

“I didn’t ask for an apology,” he responds, squeezing your side with his other hand. By the time Legolas takes pity on you and lets you up, there are tears of mirth forming in your eyes.

You can sneak up on an elf, but you can’t outrun one, it seems.


End file.
